


being for the benefit of miss lalonde?

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [42]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, F/F, F/M, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, M/M, Mentions of Child Slavery, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Menstruation, Mentions of Prostitution, Organized Crime, Questionable Foreign Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer has come to a close in New Jack City and the question on everyone's mind is this: what has Rose been up to and why is she so hush-hush about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. protégé

**== >Rose: Enjoy Mirth Gras**

 

Mirth Gras isn’t of interest to you. The only thing people do at is play crooked carnival games, play pranks they’ll regret come morning, or sleep with the wrong people. You’ve seen the statistics; post-Mirth Gras the pregnancy rate and purchasing of emergency contraceptive shoots up. You were the red headed stepchild in a family if your conception date could be traced to Mirth Gras, St. Capricornus’s Day, or any holiday that involved alcohol and poor choices.

You remember Mirth Gras with John. He tried to win you a panda and lost 12 boon. Eventually he just bought you one at another booth. You still have that panda, though you’ve hidden it in a crate under your bed along with everything else from John.

But this year is different! You are actually enjoying Mirth Gras. You’re sitting at a desk in Scrate’s parlor multitasking. One hand is typing up notes for Scrate’s records. The other hand is fiddling around with your iHusk and on occasion grabbing the glass full of expensive wine that Scrate has offered you. You look at your Trollichum inbox, deleting yet another slew of apology messages from Dave and questions about how you are from Jade. There’s no message from John (not that you care). 

You suddenly get an incoming message.

 

\--grimAuxilatrix[GA] began trolling tentacleTherapist[TT]!--

 

GA: Hello Rose

TT: Oh, Kanaya! Its been ages since we last spoke.

GA: Its Been A Month Since Weve Had A Conversation

TT: It couldn’t have been that long, Kanaya. Just since the end of the school semester I would think.

GA: The School Semester Ended May 25th Rose Its June 14th Now So Its Been A While Since Then

TT: Has it really been that long? I guess time flies when you’re working.

GA: Id Prefer If We Talked Face To Face Where Are You

TT: I’m at work.

GA: On A Holiday?

TT: Being here is preferable to wandering around the fairgrounds and getting food poisoning.

GA: What Exactly Is Your Position?

TT: I am a secretary and a discerner of the lore. Scrate has so many resources, Kanaya. He even has a rare copy of The Gospel of Witches and Pseudomonarchia Abominationum.

GA: It Sounds Like Youre Enjoying Yourself

TT: Oh I am! Its wonderful being here, Kanaya. I wish you could meet Scrate. He’s so awesome!  

GA: Id Rather Not Meet Him

GA: By The Way John Is Asking For You

TT: John? What’s he doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Becquerel or something?

GA: Hes Back In Town For The Carnival He Wants To Try And Apologize To You I Think

TT: Oh, I’m shore he does.

TT: *sure

TT: Listen, Kanaya, its over between John and me. The flame that sparked that relationship has waned or however that saying goes.

GA: I Dont Think There Is A Saying Going Along With Whatever Words You Were Trying To Cobble Together There But According To John He Tried To Get In Contact With You But His Message Didn’t Send And Someone Stole His Ihusk

GA: He Also Tried To Go Over Your House And Talk To You Before He Left But You Werent Home Or Acted Like You Werent Dave Said The Same Thing

 

You know that; it’s why you’ve been spending a lot less time at home.

 

TT: Watever

TT: *Whaever.

TT: Wateveverrrr. I’m over him.

GA: Rose Are You Feeling Alright?

TT: Wate’re you talking about?

GA: You’re Spelling Strangely

TT: I don’t know what youre talking about Kanaya I feel finnne.

GA: Rose Are You Drinking?

TT: What. Why would you. Even think that. I’m jujst not focusing I’m mltsking

TT: *Multitasking

GA: Rose You Know Alcohol And You Are Not A Good Combination

TT: its just a few sips Kananaya theres no harm done with a few sips

GA: How Many Glasses Have Those ‘sips’ Consumed

TT: Idk maybe twoish?

GA: I Think You Should Put That Soporific Drink Down Before You Hurt Yourself Or Do Something You Regret

TT: Oh liek what exactly?

GA: Like That Time We Made Out And Then The Next Day You Regretted It

TT: I said that?

GA: You Said A Much Longer Version Of It But That’s Essentially What Happened And What You Said

TT: Wow sounds like a toetally crazy thing that happened.

TT: *totally

GA: Rose The Reason Ive Messaged You Is Because I Have Been Conversing With Eridan And Damara About Certain People They’ve Encountered So Far Along Their Path Of Questionable Life Choices And Its Lead Me To One Conclusion

TT: lol that is a lot of words that you just said right there kanams. I forgot how much you use your mouth ;)

GA: Sigh

GA: I Guess Ill Have To Simplify This For You Due To Your Inebriated State

TT: lol k

GA: I Think The People You Are Working For Are Dangerous Criminals

GA: You Could Be Placing Yourself And Your Loved Ones In Danger Rose

TT: whoa for serious??

TT: that’s really heavy but

TT: I think like ygot em all wrong cause mr scrates sooooo nice kanannan. and super cool and awesum

GA: Are You Even Listening To A Word Im Saying Right Now?!

TT: Im totes listening. listen. Kanaya.

TT: Kanaya.

TT: Kananams are you slitening?

GA: Yes Rose Im Listening

TT: You are like totrally my BESTEST best bffsy and all but you are so totally wrong about my boss and hold on

TT: I think hes coming back so I totes gotta look profesh rite now

GA: Youre Drunk!

TT: Shhhhhhh aint no thang but a chicken wang hee hee

 

\--tentacleTherapist[TT] ceased trolling grimAuxilatrix[GA]--

 

GA: Once Again

GA: Sigh

 

You suppress another hiccup as Scrate returns to the parlor, accompanied by Nektan wearing his finest purple and black trimmed suit. You’ve met the seatroll often enough to know that (one) he was very stuck up and (two) you had an immediate dislike of him.

Nektan gives a dramatic sigh, “It’s depressing how sanitized Mirth Gras has become in East New Jack! All the wild partying is regulated to the bars and only children visit the fairgrounds. Its _far_ more entertaining to come to the Ninth Ward. The people parade the streets, playing music, and having their own fun. It’s like living in the Fourth Age all over again!”

Nektan’s love of the Fourth Age explains his Neo-Victorian fashion and aesthetics; an attitude that Young Britain as a whole was yet to grow out of.

Scrate smiles. “The people here aren’t found of change, as made obvious by the many conservatives sitting on its city council.” He nods to you, “I see my protégé is enjoying my 2060 Chateau Mouton. Careful not to spill it. The wine’s worth almost as much as the book you’re reading.”

“I am always careful, Mr. Scrate.” You chuckle, putting down the wine glass.

“Oh, I always love Chateau Mouton.” Nektan says although he’s holding a cup of some colored purple alcohol they serve every Mirth Gras and St. Capricornus.

“You would drink it all if I let you get you get your hands on this.” Scrate says. You can’t tell if he’s teasing Nektan or not.

“You make it sound like I chug my alcohol instead of _sampling_.” Nektan says, wobbling to the door, “Gods, I love Mirth Gras. What a lovely holiday! Could use a bit more entertainment on your point though, Scrate. Whatever happened to that little sea-minx? Popped in and then gone the next week. Lovely fashion sense though.”

“You never know what others have going on, and if I recall she was more _your_ associate than mine.” Scrate says, sitting in his arm chair.

You walk over to Scrate, bringing the wine with you, and go to the cabinet to get him a clean glass. Habit has taught you to pamper the boss, especially when he’s being the most excellent host to boorish associates.

Nektan looks at his iHusk and then starts to hurry out the door. “Well, I must bid you farewell, Scrate. I’ve got a new minx to visit at the Strip. Perhaps you’ll hear of us if we make another jackpot at the slots.”

“I can only hope.” Scrate chuckles. Nektan leaves the parlor and you hand Scrate a glass of wine, “First he tells me relationships are a waste of time and now Nektan’s head over heels for this next ‘minx’ because of the winnings they got at Buccaneer’s Bliss.” He sips then, smiling.

“It’s fitting that a member of the upper class would be attracted to the smell of money.” you chuckle, “If that’s how he notices things, I bet he can’t even _see_ me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Faolin Whelan treats his employees as such. He prefers to let his son and lackeys handle the actual business while he’s a figurehead.”

Part of the job is memorizing important names and dates. Faolin Whelan is the owner of Whelan Maritime Shipping (WMS). He started in the Fourth Age as a South Bojangles immigrant on a shrimp boat making deliveries from New Jack to Los Jaspers; fifty something years later he was a shipping mogul and owned all of Dockside along with ports in Los Jaspers, Chiquago, Leder, and Lew.

“Nektan has to be in his early twenties though.” You sit down and hope your articulation will cover your tipsiness. Scrate’s smirking though so your articulation trick may not be fooling him. “That’s rather young to be the forefront of a large company.”

“Faolin strongly adheres to the philosophies of his homeland. Seventeen is adulthood and by then you should already have a family and be contributing to the business. Nektan is long overdue for contribution.”

“So what does he do exactly?”

“He manages shipping at Happy Harbors. He oversees what is imported, what is exported, the rates of such business, and how many safety exams are conducted within the space of a day on cargo. WMS still has to defer to police and federal standard. If they uncover anything illegal, they have to report it.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“Which is why it is often shifted to those employed right below him. On occasion he pops in just to make sure the place isn’t swarming with police or DEA.” He smiles, “And Mirth Gras is a time to spend with your family and friends. What of yours?”

You frown. “I think my friendship with the others is near its end.” That and John is in town again and you’d rather not see him face to face.

“Ah, the heaviest of heartaches. Losing a lover is difficult but losing a friend is thirty times worse.” He takes your hand, “My dear, it hurts my heart to see you so miserable. Spending the first day of Mirth Gras alone is a tragedy for one so young. I’m going to a party at Capone’s manor. Would you like to come along?”

You feel the blood go to your cheeks. “It sounds like fun but I don’t have anything worth wearing.”

“Allow me to grant my employee something enjoyable to wear.”

“Oh, I couldn’t! I’d never be able to pay you back if something happened to them.”

“It’s alright, my dear. I own so many clothes I could easily give them away.”

You can’t refuse his kindness. He takes you to his bedroom which is bigger than your room and your mother’s room combined. Inside is a closet spacious enough to walk in and filled with costumes. He guides you to the gentle floral laces and satin frocks and fishnet hose that you’re so fond of.

You pick up a necklace, strung with blood red stones. “I’ve never seen something like this up close.”

“Then I must educate you and wake you to new pleasures, my dear. Being my protégé, at least indulge a poor old man in his vanities. After all, there are _worse_ sins.”

You smile at him, “If all old men talked as eloquently as you do, I think the young men would be in peril of never seeing any marital beds.”

He taps your lips, grinning. “That is a mischievous tongue we have there, and I’d suggest you keep it hidden unless you want it cutting any less dull wits.”

He places a necklace on you, a fifteen inch pearl strand and dangling off it is a lustrous diamond centered gold snowflake composed of pearls and round rubies. You feel embarrassed wearing them, the necklace standing out among your hand sewn clothes.

“It’s a little marvel I picked up at an auction in Young Britain.”  He tells you, “The snowflake is eighteen karat gold and the diamond is old mine cut. The pearls are a mix of natural and cultured. The necklace came from an ex-noble family whose daughter disgraced them and suddenly dropped off the map. This was one of her many possessions they auctioned off before relocating to another part of the isle.”

He helps you put in earrings made of table-cut diamonds arranged in a pear pattern. “They’re so beautiful...” you say, “This is too much. I must be wearing more than what my trailer is worth.”

“What your trailer _park_ is worth but only the best is reserved for my protégés. If I’m going to bring you amongst others, I want to show you off. Joan, help my dear protégé into her new clothes.”

Joan is always skulking in the corners of the room, never too far from Scrate; eyes staring into the distance.

“She was a wreck when I found her,” Scrate had told you on your first day at work, “She could barely string two three words together without lapsing into horrified silence. Who could blame her after seeing her girlfriend killed in front of her? Oh yes; it was a tragedy. I won’t horrify you with the details, my dear, but seeing your beloved murdered right in front of you is something I wouldn’t wish upon my worst of enemies. It goes without saying that I wouldn’t engage her in too much in conversation. Much of the nodes in her mind burnt out long ago.”

It’s hard to think of Joan in terms of humanity. You’ve seen her muscle purplebloods out of the way like they were nothing. It was easier to think of her as a sexless muscular humanoid with more anger bubbling under the surface than she let on.

Having never been left alone in a room with Joan, you try to make some conversation. Perhaps sate a few question you have. “How long have you worked for Scrate?”

“Too long.” Joan replies.

Scrate picked out a white gown for you to wear. You never thought you’d wear white or pearls but it does look lovely. The dress also fits and it makes you wonder if it was made just for you or did someone else wear it? Joan helps by zipping up the back.

You turn in the dress, admiring yourself in the dressing closet’s tall mirror. “Do you know who this dress belonged to?”

“It was mine.” she says.

“What?” That does explain why the dress can fit you. She couldn’t have been a small skinny girl when young.

“Sold it. A long time ago. My family.” She responds.

“Oh.” you say, “It’s very nice…”

“Not. Interested.” She snorts, having no interest for sympathies.  

The bedroom door creaks open and Lil Cal enters. They grin, “What’s going on in here, _hmm_? The cue ball’s ‘protégé’ getting a most fashionable makeover?”

Joan frowns as Cal comes through the door. You encounter them at least once during your work hours. Although more friendly than Joan, they were always more annoying. Typically they’d come around, pester you, and get chased off by Joan.

“Shouldn’t be here…” Joan says.

Cal frowns, “Cue ball said I could help! If there’s one thing I know, it’s making something look nice. I do Callie’s makeup all the time and no one complements me on it. Ever.”

You haven’t met Callie or Caliborn but they’ve been mentioned by Cal enough times, with Joan or Scrate always hushing him about delving further into the topic. This could be an opportunity to learn more. New Jackers are nosy, especially when it comes to employers.

“I could do without your looks.” Cal says to Joan, “Out! Out! I want to work without you glaring at me!”

Joan glares at Cal but walks to the closet door. With her gone, Cal has you sit in a chair in front of a dresser as they arrange blush and lipstick.

“So who’s Callie?” you ask.

“Oh, is _that_ what you want to know about?” Cal chuckles.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“It’ll cost you.”

“Cost me what?” They grin slyly and you add, “If it involves me and you doing anything, it’s out of the question.”

They’re taken aback by this, “ _Gross_. What gave you that weird idea?”

“This is New Jack. You never know what people want from you.”

“Disgusting.” They say, scowling, “I was thinking you could bring me fudge from the party. I never get to go to parties. I’m always stuck here entertaining Callie and Caliborn with story time and board games.”  

So Caliborn and Callie are children? “Are they related to Scrate?”

“Cue ball’s one of those types that take in people for his ‘family’. Maybe Caliborn is related to him. Who knows? I can’t see anyone having sex with the old fuck.”

You could but your imagination is a great and terrible thing. He might be old but he doesn't _look_ it. “Are they gifted?”

“Gifted? Callie maybe but not Caliborn. He’s dumber than a sack of rocks but strong enough to pick up a truck and throw it at you.” They step back and study you. “You’re missing something… ooh!” They rustle through some shelves and roughly pins a wig to your head. “ _Long hair_! There. Done.”

You look in the mirror, feeling like a young, regal bride. You can’t even recognize yourself.  

Cal smirks. “You know he wants to fuck you, right?”

You glare at him. “ _What_?”

“Cue ball. The old man.” Cal snickers, “He totally wants to fuck you. You’re his special little protégé and all. You think he’d give all these things to just another employee?”

“I don’t care what you think.” You stand, moving slowly in the large dress, “Our relationship is strictly business.”

Cal rolls their eyes and hands you a black and silver mask. “Don’t forget your mask, princess.”

 

* * *

 

The masquerade party is at the Capone manor and you arrive by limousine. The manor is decorated in Mirth Gras colors, purple and gold streamers and lighting while the help is wearing masks. The food is lavish and music is played by a live band. You recognize the people here from their pictures and stories in the paper. The owners of the local RFC and Chumhandle’s franchises, the presidents of the local Crockercorp and NEBio sectors, the heads of the unions that ran Happy Harbors and Rutpol.

The first person that talks to Scrate is someone you've lived in fear of since an early age. The DD. The Debt Dictator. The Black Carapace everyone in the trailer park pays rent to or face heartless eviction. And here the man is, wearing a designer suit, a mask, and drinking expensive Nehetalian wine. He has a Carapace escort on his arm, tattooed with the markings of Blood and Haze on forearms and legs.

You are petrified.

“Scrate! Didn’t expect to see you here!” the DD laughs. “These Nehetalians sure know how to throw a party. Not anything like in _Dadlas_ but close. Have you talked to the mayor yet? If you want to, you better do it before he gets snookered. You know how he likes his _drinks_.”

“So I’ve heard. It’s good to see you, Charles.” Scrate replies, “How goes business?”

The DD shrugs. “Same old, same old. I’ve been thinking about driving up the rent on those trashy slugs in the park. Looking at getting a new yacht. The old one just doesn’t have the same _feel_. Plus I want to get some property on the edge of New Jack in case the biofuel companies want to expand. Those misers will have to rent from _me_ if they want it.”

“Yachting has always been your thing, Charles.” Scrate looks at you. “This is my newest protégé.”

The DD barely looks at you. “Scrate, you were always a magnet for cute ones.” he says, “Are you taking her abroad? I know how you like to float around the East Continent mostly.”

“Perhaps. The Eastern Continent is nice but I always like coming to New Jack to scout new talents. This city breeds creativity like no other. Maybe it’s being close to the Triangle of Despair that helps? Who knows? That’s something for the realm of scientists and philosophers to debate about.”

“Speaking of the Triangle of Despair, Capone wanted to talk to us. Do you mind coming along?”

“Not at all.” Scrate smiles at you. “Rose, shall I leave you to mingle with the others?”

You nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

The DD and Scrate walk off to talk business elsewhere, leaving you and the escort behind. The escort takes no interest in you, most likely assuming you’re in the business yourself. You make your way to the buffet table, sampling some pastries and pocketing cubes of flavored fudge. You go to the balcony, watching people play with sparklers or set off fireworks down below in the yard.

“Pretty bored huh?”

You turn and see Vriska walking up to the balcony. You barely recognize her in the costume but only Serkets have the eightfold eye.

“Are you talking to me…?” you ask.

“No one else lingering here.” She says. “You’re like one of three humans here. So what? Your guy drag you here too?”

She doesn’t recognize you with the makeup, wig, mask, and dress. Should you tell her it’s you? What would you even say? That’d only alert the DD that you’re trailer trash and you’d be even more out of place here. You don’t make eye contact and mutter, “Sort of. Who did you come with?”

“Mr. Wine and Song over there.”

Vriska points over her shoulder to Nektan, who’s face is flushed from alcohol and currently hitting on a woman who’s looking increasingly less amused by his ‘charms’.

“Oh. _Him_.” you say, “Are you dating?”

“Fuck no.” Vriska frowns, “The only thing he loves are boons and booze and I’m not either. He likes to think he can ‘rescue’ me from my ‘deplorable situation’ and ‘bring me up in the world’. He just wants to make himself look good. The only person Nektan’s fooling is himself.”

“So why are you here with him?”

“Why not?” Her eyes look watery as she whispers, “I’ve got nothing better to do…”

There’s longing in her eyes. Who could she be thinking about? Kanaya? You know the jadeblood had a one-sided crush on her sibling. You know Kanaya had mentioned her sister’s closeness to Karkat. You never thought of Karkat and Vriska as a couple. The two seemed to be complete opposites but stranger pairings have happened.

“I’m sure he’s thinking of you,” you say, “The person you _really_ want to be with, I mean.”

Vriska looks at you, squints, “…Rose?”

And your attempt to be nice has blown your cover. You quickly walk away. Vriska doesn’t go after you. You wander around the manor, looking at the paintings, the stuffed animals hanging on the walls, and demonic harlequins statues. You find yourself entranced by a painting of Mirthalla and the Consort sitting on her golden throne with the Beast of Time’s End by her feet.

Capone approaches you, “I see you’re a fan of classical paintings.”

You smile at the purpleblood. “Yes, but I’m an even bigger fan of mythology. I’ve always been entranced by the stories of not only the Eldritch One but of Mirthalla, the Golden Hall of the Slain. Its interesting to read how the story of the Consort evolved over time.”

“She has several names. The Gold Bitch. The Great Sicknasty Harlot. Winged Harshwhimsy.” Capone says, “Originally there were just two Mirthful Messiahs accompanying the Angel of Double Death, but somewhere along the lines several others were added in the mythos.”

“I think it’s because of the regime change.” you say, “The Subjugglators were the Condesce’s personal army of conquest, but she was later usurped and killed by the False Emperor. Maybe the Gold Bitch is a homage to the Condesce? A stealth worship like how Christians used to hide themselves from the Romans back on ancient Earth?”

“Perhaps. You’re very eloquent for someone so young. I thought you were looking at the painting just because it ‘looks neat’ like most of the guests here.”

You smile, “I’m not Scrate’s protégé just because I can type fifty words a minute.”

“I should have my secretary take tips from you then.”

You enjoy talking to Capone. He’s the opposite of all the purplebloods you’ve encountered in school. Scrate and him go to another balcony to talk business and drink. A busty yellowblood and you sit on the edge of their conversation circle. This must be the secretary Capone mentioned and you wonder if he paid for those ‘talents’ in her shirt.

You end up talking secretarial woes while keeping an ear out for the mention of your name, a question, or a request in your direction.

“What do you do for carpal tunnel?” you ask.

“Just some twisting and turning exercises with my wrist, or wearing a brace when I can’t relax.” Bustil says, “I’ve learned to use both my arms because I broke mine once.”

“I always wanted to be ambidextrous.”

Its polite, bland conversation. Neither of you really want to interact but you can’t leave.

Scrate stands, nodding to Capone. “I’ll take your offer under consideration. There are a lot of opportunities to be found in the Triangle of Despair.”

The Triangle of Despair came up a lot in the conversation you were half paying attention to. The trade route that joined the countries of Leder, Lew, and Raffil was once known as the Golden Triad, being a source of rich exports like machinery, metals, wood, chemicals, and coffee. After the Ortiza Riots and the economic bubble burst, the shared governments of the countries imploded. Now it was a Triangle of Despair, exporting only human misery with Leder being the heart of illicit activity.

Scrate takes your hand, leading you from the balcony. “It’s almost time to take our leave, my dear.” He says, “Will you grace me with at least one dance?”

 

How could you refuse when he asks so politely? Scrate leads you, clasping your right hand to his left. His right hand cups your shoulder blade. Step together. Flourish. Right box step. Turn. It’s not long; only a few minutes of dancing and then Scrate leaves the floor. He tells Joan to go get the car ready.

“You’ve done this before.” is the first thing he says in the limo.

“Yes.” John and you had practiced dancing. He had said it was for a play, but you found out from Dave he just wanted an excuse to hold your hand. Thinking of John makes the hole in your heart ache more. 

Scrate touches your hand. “Whoever it is, they lost a true treasure ignoring you like this.”

Heat rises to your face. “It’s that obvious on my face?”

“I may be an old man but I know the pain of heartbreak.”

So there was an ex in the past. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“I decided a long time ago that I am quadranted to my work.”

You’re burning with curiosity but you remain silent. You don’t want to push your luck with the boss. You go back to Scrate’s flat, wash off the makeup and change out of the dress. When you get back, Cal is dressed like a goblin. He helps you unzip the back of the dress. When you ask them about the costume, they shrugs. “Why not? Its Mirth Gras.” they say.

You change back into your drab clothes and walk to Scrate’s parlor. The troll makes tea from a silver and enamel samovar painted with wintry Trussian scenery in blue and white. He tells you that the samovar belonged to a Trussian duchess and he bought it at a charity auction in Mstislav years ago. You sip green tea with him and sit across from each other, watching the fireworks.

He laughs. “You’ve been so quiet, my protégé. You must either be very polite or nervous. Most of my protégés clamor all over me to know more about my ex. Some of them don’t believe a man like me could ever have quadrants.”

You blush, looking at your teacup, which is decorated with gold leaf and watercolor leaves. “I can believe it. There are worse people who have spouses and reproduce.”

“That is true. I wouldn’t have been born if only nice people reproduced.”

“So where were you born?”

Scrate chuckles and sips from his cup, “I was born in a town many, many, _many_ years ago in Germanium. Our town had been on the edge of the fallout zone from the Son of Chernobyl incident. We were considered slightly radioactive but not enough that our movements were to be restricted. My parents were desperately poor and I was one of many offspring. I was too young to tend the ectobiological machines that supplied us with food or work the dangerous water purification system, so they sold me to a Brazilitim man who said he’d give me food and work. It was a lie of course.” Another sip, “Brazilitim is a den of sin. I was being sold into prostitution.”

You keep your poker face on as he talks. Brazilitim is like Los Jaspers times a thousand; anything illegal in Los Jaspers is more than legal there. They even have arenas where you can hunt criminals for sport and public executions are broadcasted like the Superbowl.

He continues his story, not flinching at the unpleasant details; being packed into a truck with other children, smuggled into Brazilitim, living in an abandoned hotel, and his first night on the street. It was on his first night he encountered a Young British nobleman on holiday. Upon seeing their desperate condition, the nobleman bought him and several others. Being a Lord, he had a lot of land and homes that needed tending to, so he picked us.  During this time, we received a meager education.

“But I longed to see the world, especially the Western Continent,” Scrate sighs, “so I took a leave of absence from my Lord’s home. I came to New Jack City and sought employment. Although I was intelligent, I was still a foreigner and a troll, so the only employment I could get was doing puppetry for very low pay. Although after Lomax Street grew in popularity, so did my pay and status. I missed Young Britain though so I handed my Lil Cal puppet over to my first protégé and returned home. My Lord was quite old but sustained through technology only accessible to the supremely rich. I helped him with business, becoming his right hand man. Soon, I shall take my Lord’s place in his work, as he has no true heirs left.”

There are huge chunks of the story left out, such as the infamous ex.  You ask, “So what of the others?”

“I pick up different people as I travel. I still return to Germanium to adopt.” He stands. “It’s late, my dear; too late for one to be taking the bus alone on Mirth Gras night. Will you consider staying the night?”

You smile, “Thank you. I’m afraid to travel alone so late.”

The first night of Mirth Gras is always the most dangerous. The gangs rove the streets because curious tourists are walking about. You may not be a mutantblood but it’s not any safer for you to be walking around by yourself. Scrate takes you to the guest room which is close to his.

“I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I promise.” You say.

“There’s no hurry, my dear. Your safety is my upmost concern.”

You should ask him more question but instead you smile and retreat to the guest room. You flop into the fluffy bed and immediately fall asleep. Hours later the door opens and you sit up. Living in the Ninth Ward trains you to be a light sleeper. Cal is in the doorway, still in costume.

“You promised me candy, blondie.” Cal huffs.

“You’re more blonde than I am.” you say, pulling your purse close to you. You fish in the bag and hand him the fudge. “Why do you want candy so badly when you can get it here?”

“Because any candy I get, Caliborn eats. Callie and him eat anything sweet. Fucking sugar fiends.” Cal says, nibbling on the fudge.

“You’re called _Cal_ ,” you say, “and there’s a _Cal_ iborn and a _Cal_ lie. Are you all named after the puppet Lil Cal?” You remember Lil Cal being the most popular character on Lomax Street, right after Titanic Beakbeast. There were even Tickle-Me-Cal dolls and straight to DVD Lil Cal movies. At some point he had a spinoff show, though he had long since declined in popularity compared to the other puppets.

“Who knows? Who cares?”

Lil Cal shrugs and leaves as quickly as they arrived. If you want more answers out of them, you’ll have to win them over.


	2. calliope and caliborn

Mirth Gras continues on, making the work commute more of a pain. Your mother is fretting about you spending more time with Mr. Scrate though she doesn’t say it. She just looks at you with worried eyes. Her looks are worth it when you see the paycheck. At the end of the week, on Friday night, you are working late. You’re transcribing more text when your iHusk vibrates.

 

\--gardenGnostic[GG] began trolling tentacleTherapist[TT]!--

 

GG: rose!! have you seen karkat??

TT: No. Why would I have seen Karkat?

GG: because he’s MISSING! its ten and nobody knows where he is or get in contact with him! he’s been acting weird all week and dave is all worried! D:

TT: Why are you worried about this?

GG: dave, karkat, and i are in a joint relationship now! we look out for each other and eridan thinks karkat’s in serious danger!

TT: Well that’s another update for my nonexistent shipping wall.

GG: rose, will you please talk to dave?

TT: No.

GG: he’s really upset and he’s doing that thing where he really wants to cry or panic but he’s being stupidly macho so he bottles it up :(

TT: The answer is still no.

GG: rose!! dave is our friend! whatever he said i’m sure he didn’t mean it!

TT: No. Fuck Dave and fuck his problems. He made it clear what he thinks about me and my opinions so fuck him. I’m not going to listen to him whine about his issues anymore or talk at me whether I care or not. I’m done being everyone’s emotional crutch.

GG: rose we all miss you. :(

TT: I have work to do! Leave me alone!

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased trolling gardenGnostic[GG]!--

 

You go invisible and take a deep breath. You don’t care that Dave is upset. You’re telling yourself you don’t care. Ordering yourself not to care, even though you want to rush out and take the quickest best to the Ninth Ward right away. Thank gods that Scrate rushes in, fiddling with a necktie.

“Rose, a bit of help please?” he says, “I can’t get this damn bow.”

You nod and stand. “Always willing to help.”

He frowns. “You seem tense, my dear. What’s wrong?”

“Just…” Your hands are trembling as you fix the bow. “…a lot going on right now.”

“I see.” He sighs, “I’m sorry I can’t help you now as I have an urgent meeting to attend to. Now I normally don’t thrust this responsibility upon my protégés but would you mind doing me a favor and watching over the twins? Callie gets lonely and Caliborn needs to be looked after sometimes.”

You nod. You need the distraction. “Of course.”

“Callie’s a very sweet girl.” Scrate leads you to a section of the apartment you’ve never been in. The halls here are dimly lit and the floor scattered with board games pieces and candy. “Be careful where you step. Cal is yet to clean up for the night.”

“So Cal’s your nanny?” You can’t imagine Cal taking care of anything.

“More like a maid and entertainer.” Scrate approaches a dark green door with a metal caduceus on it.

“Why is it so dim?” You ask.

“Caliborn and Callie are sensitive. Bright light puts them in an anxious state.” He hands you a silver serpentine key. “If you hold the key, that means you’re in charge. Keep it on you at all times. I won’t water down the truth. Callie and Caliborn are very… special. They were born in a very toxic town laden with radiation in Germanium. Callie’s growth is stunted but her mind is sharp. Caliborn is physically imposing but emotionally and mentally stunted. Just keep Callie’s company and on occasion toss a candy bar to Caliborn.” 

“Okay.” It’s like babysitting two strange children.

“Thank you, Rose. You are life saver.”

Mr. Scrate leaves the hall and you unlock the door. The room’s a mess, broken game pieces and boxes of Jujubes and candy wrappers strewn on the floor. There’s also raw meat and what looks like plastic Bedazzling gems. A cardboard game board’s been tossed against the wall and a fancy wood chessboard cracked in two. Only one wall is decorated with paint and pencil illustrations and there’s a bookcase next to a computer desk. The study area is encircled with what looks like glitter dust.

Sitting in another circle of glitter dust is a small troll wearing a long green buttoned shirt. There’s something strange about her but you can’t tell what. Is her skin too smooth? Her hair too dark? Her horns are too curved? Her eyes are squinted but focused on the screen in front of her; not paying you any attention.

In the corner of the room, next to a large sarcophagus-like recuperacoon is the largest troll you’ve ever seen. He’s huddled into a defensive ball, glaring at you with red cybernetic eyes. He’s bald and his horns are sanded down to flat stubs. The area around his eyes and mouth are surrounded by keloid scars. 

If he functions like an animal, he’ll smell fear. You stay calm and show him the key. “I’m Rose.” you say, “I’m going to be watching you while Cal is away.”

You don’t know if he can understand you. He’s not moving from the corner. You look back at the girl, whose eyes are still on the TV.

“So you’re Callie?” you ask. The girl doesn’t respond. “Hello?” Still no response. You move a little closer to her and touch her shoulder. Immediately she falls over and looks at you, scowling. “I’m Rose. I’m going to be watching you.

The girl curls more into a ball; bright green eyes focused on the screen.

“Mr. Scrate tells me you’re really intelligent.” you say.

The girl still doesn’t respond. She’s looking back at the TV, which is playing Troll Labyrinth. You go to the bookcase. Maybe there’s something in there you can read to her, but there’s no children’s books. The first shelf is nothing but dense scientific and philosophical tomes: [_Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid_](http://www.amazon.com/G%C3%B6del-Escher-Bach-Eternal-Golden/dp/0465026567/?tag=io9amzn-20&ascsubtag=%5btype%7Clink%5bpostId%7C5983100%5basin%7C0465026567%5bauthorId%7C5717795175536518860), _Critique of Pure Reason, On the Plurality of Worlds,_ to name a few. The next shelf is occult-related literature: _The Book of Law, The Book of Lies, The Book of Eldritch, The Silver Dawn: The Original Account of the Teachings, Rites, and Ceremonies of the Eldritch Order, Understanding Troll Crowley’s Eldritch Tarot: An Authoritative Examination of the World’s Most Fascinating and Magical Tarot Cards_ and so on.

You pull out _Understanding Troll Crowley’s Eldritch Tarot_ and approach the girl. “You like tarot cards?”

At the mention of tarot, the girl looks up and slowly nods.

“Do you want to tell me my fortune?”

“Okay,” Her voice is small and very feminine, “but you must sit in the magic circle with me.”

“The magic circle?” You look at the colorful dust sprinkled in circles in the room. You recall reading how occultists would make sacred circles out of salt and holy water.

“It keeps The Demon away.” she says and grabs a box of Special Stardust next to her. You haven’t seen the cereal since childhood and you’re surprised it’s still available due to its high sugar content and negative nutritional values. She digs in the box and grabs a handful of the sugary colorful powder. With methodical precision, she makes her circle bigger.

“Streaming off. TV off.” She says. The movie stops streaming and the screen goes blank. The other troll is sitting up, watching you, and growling low. You keep the key pressed to you, watching him. You really hope the key is enough to discourage his approach.

The troll goes to the computer desk, roots through the drawers, and then pulls out a deck of cards. She returns to the sacred circle and you sit across from her. She goes through the motion of withdrawing cards and shuffling the deck.

“Ask a question.” She says.

You go with the easiest question. “What lies in my future?”

She picks out three cards for you and arrays them left to right; representing the past, present, and future.

The first card is the Blazing Light, upright.

“Poverty.” Callie says, “Earthly happiness.”

The next card is the Skeleton Reaper, upright.

“Transformation.” she says, “Love.”

The last card is the Two Roads, upright. 

“Secrets. Ordeal.” Her green eyes widen before returning to their usual squint. “You’ve experienced great poverty but also great happiness. You’re going to undergo a transformation very soon, but there’s an ordeal in your near future. Two paths. Two roads. Two ways you could go with love or life. It’s your decision and something that is going to change your life forever.”

“Who taught you tarot card reading? Was it Mr. Scrate?”

“I taught myself. I taught myself everything.” she says. “I read all the books Mr. Scrate tells me too.”

“So you don’t go to school… Callie? Is that you name?”

“Calliope.” She looks at the troll in the corner. “He’s Caliborn. We’re twins.”

You have trouble believing they’re twins, mainly because of Caliborn’s monstrous size and only vaguely looking like Callie. You smile politely anyways. “How old are you, Callie?”

“I don’t know. I guess I am a child. I am not an adult and I never will be.”

She looks too old to be considered a ‘child’. “Mr. Scrate told me about your… stunted growth.” Callie frowns more and you change the subject, “So you have an interest in theoretical physics?”

“No.”

“Philosophy?”

“Boring.”

“Occult? Supernatural?”

“Nope.”

“But that’s on the shelf.”

“It’s not my book shelf. It’s just stuff I read.”

“So what do you _like_ to read?”

She squirms in the way most children do when keeping a secret. “I just read whatever.”

“What else do you do?”

“Play chess.” She sulks, “I _used_ to play chess.”

The cracked chessboard makes that obvious. From how Caliborn is still glaring, you guess he’s the culprit. Callie has other board games though. There’s only two players so the rounds don’t last long. Caliborn doesn’t move from his spot and continues staring. Does he ever blink?

“So do you always stay in this room?” you ask Callie over a game of Parcheesi, which you’ve never played until now, “You don’t have friends?”

“I have friends.” Callie mutters, “We’re fans of Homebent and we have roleplays. I made art of our fangoblins.” You hear Caliborn mutter something but you can’t make it out.

“Homebent?” You remember hearing about it from Jade. “What’s a goblin?”

Callie goes to the desk in the corner. She points to a picture hanging on the wall of what looks like a troll but they have purple hair and wings. “This is Eezmag. She’s my favorite character.”

There’s a high level of detail in the painting. It looks like a real person. “Did you use someone as a model?”

“I don’t need models. I have a good memory.” Callie searches through the bookcase and hands you a sketchbook. “I just do things and it looks like this.”

The sketchbook is filled with advanced level drawings you’d expect from an artist in their thirties, not a tiny troll. Now you wish you could see her play chess. “What else can you do?”

Callie looks at you but doesn’t respond. You guess she used up her amount of socialization for the day. She sits in the corner and returns to reading. You decide to start observing the room. There’s a joined bathroom which a large tub and there’s piles of candy next to the large recuperacoon you assume is for the both of them. It’s odd to think of siblings sharing a space like this. Caliborn (estimating from his size) must be in his thirties. Questions start forming in your head: are they always confined to this room? Are they related to Scrate or not? Are they some kind of idiot savant Scrate uncovered?

Caliborn mumbles and climbs into the recuperacoon, still fully clothed and glaring at you. You stream more movies, watching the rest of Labyrinth, Food Court Kings, You Can’t Do That on Blip, and Bee and Puppycat via stream. Bee and Puppycat makes you miss Jade. You watched the premier with her. Now you’re sitting here alone, watching two very strange trolls.

The door opens and Cal comes in. Caliborn sits up and climbs out the recuperacoon. He hugs Cal, rubbing his soporific slimy face on the smaller human’s shoulder.

Cal scowls, but doesn’t rebuff the giant troll. “Ugh. Slimy. You’re not supposed to be in your recuperacoon with your clothes.” They wave awkwardly at you. “Yeah we’re back.”

You’re staring at how Cal is shrugging off this enormous troll snuggling him. “…glad that you’re back.”

“You. In the tub.” Caliborn trudges to the bathroom. Cal looks at you, smirking. “So cue ball roped you into this huh?”

“I wasn’t really roped in. It’s just overtime.” You say.

“I’m sure,” Cal snickers, “Fork over the key.”

You give him the key and leave the room. Mr. Scrate is in the hall and as usual he greets you with a polite smile. “Thank you for this, Rose. I usually don’t like leaving the children in the company of people they don’t know. Sometimes they get troublesome and most people are… intimidated by Caliborn’s size and nature.”

He calls them children but are they his? Scrate pats you on the shoulder, and thanks you for your help. Before you leave, you have one troublesome question, “The girl’s eyes are green. Her blood must be green as well but the shade is so bright and well, I was taught limebloods were extinct.”

Scrate smiles sadly. “They are. They’ve been extinct since Imperial times. What the girl and her brother suffer from is a severe mutation brought on by Geranium’s irradiated land and irresponsible disposal of mutagenic materials.” He removes the white glove on his right hand. The skin is mottled, grey clashing with white flecks and splashes. He slides the glove back on. “I am one of the few gifted. Callie and Caliborn are the usual state of such trolls.”

You’ve never heard of skin mutations in trolls but a troll was always more willing to smash an egg or abandon a grub.

It’s late so you sleep in the guest bedroom. Hours into the night, you are visited by Cal. He motions for you to follow him and he takes you out to the balcony. People are flooding the streets, enjoying Mirth Gras. Lil Cal sits on the banister, legs dangling over the edge.

“Why’d you bring me out here?” you ask.

Cal sticks out his forked tongue. “Cause I know you have questions cue ball won’t answer.”

You frown, “What do you want? Information never comes freely.”

“It might come free.” Cal pouts, “Soon you’ll be part of the family. It’s only a matter of time. You’ll be family”—they tilt their head—“or you’ll leave.”

You want that scholarship and opportunities too much to just leave. “How long have you been with Mr. Scrate? Are you his protégé too?”

“All my life and no.” Cal laughs, “I’m Joan’s crotch dumpling. I’m just along for the ride because she hasn’t gotten sick of me yet.”

You can’t imagine anyone having sex with Joan or her giving birth. “So what about your father?”

“Just a spermbag I never met. What does it matter?”

The father’s rarely in the picture; if Scrate was human or Joan a troll, you’d be more suspicious. “So what are you to the twins? A nanny?”

“I guess?” Cal shrugs. “ _Neither_ of them know how to take care of themselves. Caliborn’s strong as any wrestler but he’s got zero mental and social skills. He can’t even feed himself. Callie has some social skills but her motor skills are shitty. She has trouble with buttons and shoelaces too. The real problem, though, is that neither twin wants to know more than the other. The further they’re from each other, the more different they behave.”

So they really are twins. “Why keep them in the same room?”

“Callie keeps Caliborn calm and Caliborn keeps Callie active. Its one of their many weird brain things.”

“I’m surprised Caliborn likes you.”

Cal snickers. “Some people just like puppets.”

“You’re human.”

“Nuh huh.” Cal slides off their gloves and pushes up their sleeve, revealing a mechanical limb joined to their shoulder. “I’m a puppet, see? My legs are the same too.”

You move closer to them, studying the arm. “I haven’t seen arm prosthesis like this before. And your legs are the same?”

“Yeah. My real limbs were fucked up and useless so I’ve got this whole Ghost in the Shell thing going on.” Cal says, “We went in for a tune up today.”

“We? You’re not the only cybernetic?”

“No. Joan’s got one in her brain.” Cal says, tapping their temple. “She burned her brain out a long time ago so she got cybernetics in it to make sure it works properly.”

“So… where are you from? And how do you know this?”

“Does it matter?” Cal leans over slightly and smirks, “And there goes the lone wolf on the prowl.”

You look down and see Joan ambling out of the building. Where does she go? Who guards Scrate while she’s walking around? You walk back inside, observe the green wallpaper, green couches, and carved green colonnades. The colonnades must have been a feature of the past, when the building was first erected, but who’s decision was it to put everything in a vivid green scheme?

You feel like you’re forgetting something but you’re not sure what. It’s late and you’re tired. You go to Scrate’s parlor and find the troll is sitting in his arm chair, sipping wine and reading from a thick book.

He sees you and smiles. “You look tired, Rose. Do you need a ride? I’d have Joan escort you but she’s on her evening walk.”

“I don’t think I need a ride. Maybe I’ll stay the night. I hate walking around my neighborhood at this hour.”

“I don’t blame you.” He gestures to the wine bottle. “Care to join me?”

“I would be delighted.” You sit next to him.

You drink and talk of the news and mythology. Scrate is a fountain of knowledge and alcohol makes time quickly drip away. You both polish off the bottle together and (being the gentleman he is) helps you to the guest room.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, dear.” Scrate teases, placing you on the bed.

“It’s not like I haven’t drunk before.” You giggle. “I used to try and drink my mother’s martinis when I was little.” You hiccup, “Didn’t like ‘em...”

“All things come with age.” He informs you, removing your shoes.

“I ‘member the last time I was drunk.” You giggle, “Really drunk. It was a party and I kissed Kanaya. Hee.”

“And who is Kanaya?”

“My best friend in the whole wide world.” You slur.

“But not your matesprit?”

“Nooo…”

“Why not?”

“Why…?” It feels like your head’s floated away from your body. You roll onto your side, “It was an assident. Accident. Like. I didn’t mean to kiss her cause she’s a good friend. Iss like with Meen and Aranea? Like they were real gud friends but then nada nothing zip zero. I’m thinkin’ mebbe in another universe or something we really could be together? And we could be like super sassy lesbians and have like a million cats and be like bbfsies with our parents but nah I still love John.” You sniffle. “I…I still love…”

You sniffle and start to hiccup more. “I still love John and I hate him so much…we were s’posed to leave this fucking place together and he took off and left me behind. And he don’t even care. A-and I never wanna see him again…”

Scrate sighs and touches your shoulder. “I sensed that this was really the root of everything. Sometimes it’s just the pressure of everyday life that builds and builds until we can’t take anymore.”

You end up sobbing about how you’re not sure if you can respect your mother knowing what she does for a living, not being sure who your father is even though its constantly nags at you, how even with high grades you won’t be able to afford college and you’ll never get out of this miserable city. You’ll have to live in the trailer park for the rest of your life, trying to make ends meet… that is if you don’t get knifed, raped, or blown up because of the gang war. The neuroses won’t stop pouring out.  

Scrate doesn’t say anything. He stays and listens to each of your fears, from the great to petty. At the end he smiles and pats you on the head, “You’re a good little girl, Rose. You’ll do fine.”

Scrate leaves the room while you’re sniffling. Eventually you fall asleep and wake up with a horrible hangover and your iHusk memory almost filled with messages from everyone you know. You don’t bother looking at the thousands of messages. You recall last night’s events and find yourself too embarrassed to tell Scrate goodbye. You leave a note in his parlor and take the bus home.

Your trailer is empty so mother must be out. You flop into bed and lay there for roughly twenty minutes before there’s a banging on the door and someone calling your name. You slide out of bed and stagger to the door. You open it and there’s Kanaya, looking irritated.

“Yes…?” you mutter.

“Rose, where have you been?” She stares at how you’re dressed. “What happened? You look like you went to a party and…” She sniffs you and frowns, “Have you been drinking again?”

“I only had a few social drinks. _Mother_.” You grumble.

“How much is a few?”

You sigh, “What do you want, Kanaya?”

“What do I want? _What do I want?_ ” Kanaya growls, “Karkat was abducted yesterday! Everyone’s been worried sick about him! Jade said she told you about this or if you’ve seen him!”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jade had messaged you but you forgot about it once you were watching Callie and Caliborn. “I got caught up at work…my boss needed a favor…”

“Did you even bother telling him that your friend’s matesprit had gone _missing_?”

No, you hadn’t. You don’t even know if Dave considers you friends still. “I-it was really important…”

Kanaya rolls her eyes. “Oh for god’s sake. _Rose_. I shouldn’t have to be the one to run after you when there’s an emergency. The least you can do is see Dave.”

Your conscience won’t let you shut the door in the jadeblood’s face. You let her into the trailer and stumble around your bedroom, putting on non-wrinkled clothes. You also find something in your purse: a green skull headband. You wear it anyways. The summer sun makes your headache worse. You go to Dave’s trailer and avoid talking with him. He’s the last person you want to talk to.  

You see Karkat, who’s warns you about Scrate. He’s restating the obvious as much as you’re concerned. You admit what you say to Karkat was harsh, but you were hungover and not in a mood to deal with him or anyone really. You leave the Strider trailer abruptly and return home. You shower and lay back into bed, curled up with your iHusk. You declutter your iHusk of ‘URGENT!!’ messages until you find a message from someone not on your contact list.

 

\--unsightlyUmbra[UU] began trolling tentacleTherapist[TT] at 7:09AM!--

 

UU: i have foUnd something yoU might like, rose.

TT: Hello. Who is this?

UU: it’s me!

UU: callie ohpeee.

TT: Callie Ohpeee? Is that your name?

UU: well its the name i like best. :U

TT: Why not Calliope Scrate?

UU: i don’t like that name. it doesn’t fit me at all.

TT: You are a lot more talkative via text.

UU: text is always best for explaining how i feel aboUt things. cal says that it is the way my brain is wired.

UU: and we can talk privately this way, rose! no one else has access to the line i am cUrrently Using. not even my brother. everything i have is passcoded with physics eqUations and qUestions only i can answer. ^u^

TT: So you like physics?

UU: i like space. i like the vast void, the bright light of gUiding stars and nebUla with their tUrning arms of bright colors and mayhem, and the secUre peace and cold emptiness of deep dark galaxy.

TT: That’s rather poetic, Callie. Do you have a teacher?

UU:  i don’t go to school. i’ve always wanted to bUt i get sick often so i can’t leave my room or go very far.

TT: But you must have left my room to have put the headband in there.

UU: that’s something entirely different! U_U

TT: Different how?

UU: scratch doesn’t like me wandering aboUt, bUt sometimes i can sneak into places becaUse i am small. i thoUght yoU woUld like the headband.

TT: It is a nice headband but you shouldn’t risk getting in trouble with your father over it.

UU: scratch isn’t my father. and i can do as i please. U_U

TT: I see. So how do you view Cal?

UU: cal is a doofUs. he is more caliborn’s best friend than mine.

TT: Why is Caliborn’s name not six letters?

UU: becaUse my brother hates troll things more than yoU coUld possibly imagine.

TT: But he’s a troll himself.

UU: i woUldn’t remind him of that. my mother did that and he killed her.

TT: Killed her?

UU: yes. i don’t know the exact context of the fight per se bUt caliborn has several violent triggers that one woUld do well to avoid. i am not certain if it’d dUe to oUr place on the haemospectrUm or jUst his diseased mind.

TT: And you’re fine with Caliborn killing your mother?

UU:  well i barely knew her. at least i know that i mUst practice keeping my own temper in check.

TT: That is a good idea. So what is this thing you found for me?

UU: oh yes! i mUst send it to yoU before i forget!

UU: --unsightlyUmbra[UU] sent Characterem_bestiæ_MYSTICUS.epub!--

TT: Oh! It’s a copy of Troll Aleister Crowley’s Characterem Bestiæ Mysticus. I have been looking for this. Is this one yours?

UU: this is the transcripted version of the copy i own. the physical one i is very old and fragile bUt i figUred yoU woUld like this a lot. ^u^

TT: I do. Thank you very much, Callie.

UU: rose?

TT: Yes, Callie?

UU: yoU will stay with Us, won’t you, rose?

TT: I’ll stay as long as I’m needed, Callie.

UU: its jUst that the protégés leave when they’re done with their interning. the last one left for leder and i haven’t seen her in ages. or at least it feels that way. its hard to tell time when yoU’re inside all the time.

TT: I doubt I’ll go that far but I think we will always see each other and if not, we can always talk to each other.

UU: oh! okay. ^u^

UU: i shall talk to yoU when i can rose!

TT: It was nice talking to you, Callie.

\--undyingUmbra[UU] ceased trolling tentacleTherapist[TT]!--

 

Its wonderful speaking to Callie. You’ve had no one to really talk to besides Lil Cal since you want to keep a professional relationship with Scrate. There’s no doubt in your mind the man is crooked. Anyone who knows the DD personally has to be crooked, but that’s the way of the world.

You spend Saturday sleeping off your hangover. Luckily, no one comes to bother you. Sunday you are reading from Characterem Bestiæ Mysticus, learning of mystical practices of those wishing to gain lost and forbidden knowledge. Most of the rituals involve quaffing huge amounts of peyote but its interesting to learn about the historical and cultural values of those long past. 

Sunday night you receive a message.

 

\--scratchDoctor[SD] began trolling tentacleTherapist[TT]!--

 

SD: Rose, I hope you are doing well.

TT: Oh, hello Mr. Scrate.

TT: I’m sorry about how I behaved on Friday. I had too much to drink and I’ve had a lot on my mind and I… fell apart emotionally.

SD: Rose, think nothing of it. We all feel badly stressed sometimes. I recall when I was but a humble puppeteer I was so afraid of people discovering my wretched mutation it kept me constantly under pressure.

SD: The truth of the matter, Rose, is that you are young. You are a young, sweet girl and soon you shall see all of the world and everything it has to offer. Worrying yourself to tears over a boy is far beneath you.

SD: I hope I am not overstepping my boundaries as your employer by saying such things.

TT: No. Its fine. Sometimes it good to hear someone else’s opinion.

SD: Still, it would be wrong of me to take the place of your mother or father.

TT: My mother is usually busy and I’ve never met my father.

SD: Oh! Pardon me then.

TT: It’s alright. It’s… not a huge concern for me anymore.

SD: I too know what it’s like to face the fears of parental abandonment and neglect.

TT: I wouldn’t say its neglect per se…

SD: Call me old fashioned if you must, Rose, but the parent who ignores the needs of their child is no parent at all. That is why I always take time out of my day to always visit Calliope and Caliborn. Despite their condition, they still need a parent’s love and affection. It is the lack of affection that twists an individual into something awful. But that is just my Young British raising talking.

TT: No...what you say is legitimate.

TT: Do you not have children of your own?

SD: No. With my mutations I am doing trollkind a favor by not reproducing.

TT: That seems unfair, Mr. Scrate. You are a very nice man and actual mutantbloods seem to be more populous in New Jack.

SD: That is because a mutantblood’s mutation is not detrimental, while mine is.

TT: What about the twins? Won’t they want quadrants in the future?

SD: I doubt that will matter.

SD: By the way, Rose, I hope you made it back to your home safely. It is Mirth Gras and I would be heartbroken if something happened to you.

TT: Oh, Mr. Scratch, I grew up in New Jack City. What you consider dangerous and what I consider dangerous are two different things.

SD: Nevertheless, it would be ungentlemanly of me to not offer a young lady future aid. It is always easy to take care of one person who may wish you harm but when you have two or more, it becomes considerably more risky. Allow me to extend my personal services for your benefit. If you ever find yourself in trouble, feel free to contact Joan or Lil Cal. Their handles are giftedGladius and talentedTroublemaker. Joan has been my skilled bodyguard of several years and Cal can disarm a large troll.

TT: Really? No offense but he doesn’t look it.

SD: His size allows him rapid movement and powerful strikes when necessary. Because of his size, stature, and flexibility, he has mastered payattu. A friend of mine in Indie taught it to him while we were residing in Brazilitim some years ago.

TT: So what does Joan know?

SD: Joan has several skills but her real talent is krav maga. During our time in Brazilitim, she was a boxer. For training, I used to pit her against trolls three times her size.

TT: Sounds dangerous.

SD: A human bodyguard who cannot defend one from someone far bigger than them is not worth keeping around. Joan’s gotten me out of trouble several times before. 

TT: Thank you, Mr. Scrate, but things aren’t that dangerous here.

SD: I am always concerned about the safety of my protégés, Rose.

TT: Do you still keep in contact with them?

SD: Yes. I always keep tabs on those close to me. I even keep tabs on the others my Lord adopted into his family.

TT: Did he only adopt trolls?

SD: No. He adopted mostly carapaces.

TT: Really? I never heard of a human who adopted carapaces. At least not in New Jack.

SD: It is quite common among the old gentry of Young Britain. In addition to their Neo Victorian aesthetics, they believe the carapace people to be perfect servants due to their infallible memory and willingness to take orders.

TT: Despite that, I would like to visit Young Britain one day.

SD: Several of my protégés are from there though they now reside all across the globe.

TT: Do you think I will ever meet them?

SD: Perhaps.

 

You always enjoyed talking to Scrate and continue to do so late into the night.  

 


	3. contentment of the learned

Time blurs when you are employed. The others don’t bother talking to you and it’s a quick ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ whenever you see your mother. Events occur in the background and honestly? You prefer it that way. Among the others, you’re the eccentric occult loving oddball. When you are with Scrate and his companions, you can talk freely without worrying that you’re talking over people’s heads. Your breaks are spent on the balcony, sometimes sipping wine or reading from a book as Cal recants his day or finds another way to pester you. The few times you see Calliope, she’s not talkative and withdrawn into her own world. Online, she’s an entirely different person: excited and curious about the outside world and your mundane life.

You enjoy talking to Callie most when it raining heavily outside and you’re safe and dry indoors, watching You Can’t Do That on Blip.

 

TT: But why not talk to me face to face? We see each other almost every day.

UU: i know bUt its very complicated. scratch woUldn’t be happy aboUt me talking to anyone and everyone and caliborn doesn’t like it when i talk to other people. my brother’s not right in the head.

TT: How do you know that?

UU: well its jUst obvioUs from looking at him. i think his brains are bUrned oUt worse than joan’s.

TT: Burned out?

UU: i don’t know what it means bUt that’s what cal told me. that was the soUrce of joan’s “black moods”.

TT: Joan has bad moods?

UU: oh most definitely!

UU: sometimes she jUst stands aroUnd and doesn’t do mUch and other times she can be a right tosser.

TT: I thought only men can be tossers?

UU: why woUld that matter?

TT: Callie, Joan is a woman.

UU: she is?

TT: Has… no one explained to you the difference between men and women?

UU: i don’t think so. it was never really an issUe. does it matter?

TT: Maybe you should ask Mr. Scrate or Cal about it.

UU:  scratch never gives me real answers. he only tells half a trUth and half a lie.

TT: I always felt that way towards my mother.

UU: scratch’s not my mother. scratch’s my keeper.

TT: Is there a reason you call him Scratch? Is that what his name means in Alternian?

UU: no. scrate isn’t even a real alternian name. its jUst another loan word from another langUage that got absorbed into real alternian. yoU can tell becaUse of the amoUnt of consonants.

TT: The consonants?

UU:  yes. alternian names always have a balance of vowels and consonants becaUse in old alternian, there is a long way to spell the name and the ‘formal’ way that involves Using only two characters. so a common name like aradia coUld be spelled oUt long form a-r-a-d-i-a bUt coUld also Use two characters ‘ara’ (spirit) and ‘dia’ (time). none of this mattered Upon adUlthood thoUgh as adUlts went by title, not by personal name.

TT: Were the names chosen to mean that on purpose?

UU: more often than not it was coincidence. grUbs that sUrvived the cavern trials woUld be picked by lUsUs who woUld report to on-dUty jadebloods. then they woUld growl oUt noises which woUld be transliterated into names appropriate for the hemocaste. lowbloods coUld not have names that woUld denote nobility. so a rUstblood or yellowblood coUld not have a name that Used characters like ‘princess/prince’ or anything that denotes wealth like ‘jewel’.

TT: It sounds like you enjoy history. I think Aranea would like to meet you.

UU: who’s aranea?

TT: My history teacher. She lives in my neighborhood.

UU: are there a lot of people where yoU live?

TT: Oh yes. Plenty. There are going to be a lot more soon, especially the trolls.

UU: what do yoU mean?

TT: People are expanding their families.

UU: expanding their families? are they taking on protégés, or adding more bodygUards?

TT: No, they are having eggs. As in grubs. Children. Like offspring.

UU: how? there’s no mothergrUb.

TT: And yet trolls have found a way around that for generations.

UU: that soUnds so odd. are their families like oUrs?

TT: They’re considerably bigger and in a smaller space. If you lived like them, you would have three more siblings and have to share your room with then. You’d go to school with them and have to come home to have dinner with them.

UU: that soUnds nice. we never eat together Unless it’s a party.

UU: rose, yoU will come to the party won’t yoU?

TT: What party?

UU: at the end of the sUmmer, scratch always throws a party for his protégé. it’s the only time i get to leave my room. we all sit at a big table and have a big dinner and we talk and there’s mUsic and dancing. when scratch invites yoU to the party, that means yoU’re one of Us.

TT: What happens after the party?

UU: i don’t know. i have an early bed time. everyone else stays Up.

TT: Did you meet the last protégé at the party?

UU: yes! ^u^

TT: What were they like?

UU: i don’t know becaUse i didn’t talk to them that mUch, bUt the party was nice. when i went to bed she was laUghing with scratch and the others. the next morning she was groUchy thoUgh. cal said she drank too mUch and for me not to bother her.

TT: It sounds like she had too much fun.

UU: fUn?

TT: As in hungover.

UU: hanging over what exactly? the sky?

TT: That’s another thing to ask Cal about.

UU: i shall make a list! cal is always honest with me! ^u^

 

At work, you are transliterating and editing formal letters to Scrate’s associates overseas. Some of the letters are from as close as Midway City and the Amethyst Institute and as far as Brazilitim and Young Britain. You make a note to learn Portugahno in the future in case you have to translate letters from Brazilitim. 

An hour into your task, Cal walks into the parlor. They’re wearing a purple pink dress with matching baseball cap. You’re tempted to snap a picture and show it to Kanaya, but you’re not on speaking terms. She’s annoyed about the drinking and you not rushing to Karkat’s aid. (Why should you? You barely know Karkat and… ugh. You’re going to file this entire situation in the ‘deal with it later’ folder.)

“ _You_.” Cal says, “You are making my life forty percent harder by filling Callie’s head with questions about shit she _really_ doesn’t need to know about!”

“She’s the one asking me questions.” You say, not looking from the computer screen. “She has to be what… fourteen? She’s going to be curious about the outside world if you keep her locked up with her brother. Haven’t you seen Flowers in the Attic?”

“Listen, pinky,” Cal walks around the desk and pokes you in the shoulder, “That girl can’t go outside. She’s sensitive to light and sound and fucking people. You want to get _fired_ for putting her in harm’s way?”

“One of my...neighbors is an albino and he can tolerate sunlight to a certain point. The longer she’s kept out of the sun, the less of a tolerance she has.”

“What part of ‘Callie and Caliborn are _special’_ do you _not_ get?”  Cal huffs, “They can’t _function_ in society, and you’re not the first to try to convince cue ball to let them out.”

“It seems unfair to keep Callie locked up when she’s curious about the outside world. And why not explain gender to her? She didn’t even know Joan’s a woman.”

You can’t see Cal roll their eyes but you swear you can _hear_ it. “Like that matters. Joan’s basically sexless and I.” they grin, “I am a menacing marionette. We have no gender!”

Cal leaves the room immediately. Whatever they are dressed up for, they’re not going to tell you. You continue your transliteration of the letters. They’re business propositions to the DD, Nektan Whelan, Vinnie Makara, and Capone Makara. You know Vinnie Makara and Capone as Karkat’s old bosses and important figures in the Capricorn Brotherhood.

You do wonder how Karkat is doing. You see him in passing only and he rarely leaves Dave’s trailer. You shouldn’t have gotten irritated with him. You should have admitted you drank too much again and got upset about breaking up with John.

You should talk to John. You miss him.

No, this isn’t the time to mope. You have work to do.

 

July comes and goes. Rainy August quickly arrives. There are several storms, several flood warning and drainage ditches spilling over. Children and kits have mud and splash fights. You ignore the weather, trudging from home to work and vice versa whether its steamy wet heat or sopping rain. In all this time, you have one conversation with your mother.

“Rose,” your mother asks, standing in your bedroom doorway, “how would you feel about me dating?”

You shrug. “Indifferent I guess.”

“What about dating a troll?”

You look at her. “Which troll?” You pray to the gods it’s not Kanaya, or some Brotherhood thug who wants a round-the-clock mistress.

Your mother blushes, “…Meenah?”

“Meenah?” That doesn’t compute.

“Maybe.” Your mother giggles, “Her matesprit was human.”

You shrug, “Go for it.”  

Your mother runs off and you’re glad. She needs to move on. Even you’ve moved on, no longer concerned with your unknown father. Like Cal, Calliope, Caliborn, Joan, and Scrate, your collective mystery fathers are just another spermbag you never met.

August is a month of parties. St. Capricornus’s Day is the last day of August and the end of summer. As New Jack tradition, that means a month of social gatherings and business dealings. As Scrate’s secretary, you attend these parties with him (dolled up of course so no one recognizes how much lower class you are). Lil Cal enjoys dressing you up and putting jewels and wigs on you of different colors. He says you look best with long hair and curls, comparing you to the women and girls of Rose of Versailles or Candy Candy.

Scrate is rare to host parties at his suite though, unless they involve Nektan Whelan. You see Nektan a lot more often at all hours. Often you are the one calling up or paying “escorts” or bringing in more wine for the seatroll.

In the third week of August, Nektan pays the suite an unscheduled visit. It’s a hot and drizzling Tuesday and you are in the parlor, filling out forms for two ton shipments of Lil Cal dolls all the way from Young Britain to be donated to a children’s hospital in New Jack. Scrate sits in the corner, writing in his little black book with a pen. Joan stands next to him, staring into space as usual.

The doorbell rings repeatedly and when you answered it Nektan is standing in the rain.

“I need to talk to Scrate.” There’s no sesquipedalian cheer in his voice.

“Mr. Whelan,” you say, “although you are a treasured associate of Mr. Scrate’s, he does not take kindly to unscheduled visits.”

Nektan clenches his teeth and his miniscule gills flare. “I need to talk to Scrate _now_. I _know_ he’s here! Let me in! This is _urgent_!”

You yield to the sea troll and he rushes past you. You chase after Nektan, who runs down the hall and enters the parlor. Scrate is still writing in his book. When Nektan enters, he snaps it shut. Joan looks at Nektan, eyes focused.

“Nektan.” says Scrate, “What’s wrong? Dear ol’ Dad cut you off from your allowance?”

“We have a…situation.” Nektan looks at you. “A _private_ situation.”

Scrate maintains his serene demeanor as he looks at you, “Rose, will you leave us alone for a minute? I’m sure this won’t take long.”

You leave the parlor, shutting the door behind you.

“Psst! Pinky!”

You look at Cal, who’s standing in another hall. They’re wearing some new fashion atrocity with orange socks and a long pink shirt. You walk closer to them. “I’m not ‘Pinky’. My eyes are purple.”

“ _Gee_. Well if you’re gonna be so picky over nicknames I guess that means I’m totes not going to share my secret with you.” Cal scoffs.

“What secret?” you ask.

Cal grins and scampers down the hall, “The secret of the Land of String and Plush.”

You don’t think you’re going to be fond of whatever surprise Cal has in store but you follow anyways. If worse comes to worse, you’ll get the hell out. Cal leads you into a bedroom that looks like a nightmare crashed into a little girl’s childhood. Marionettes dangle on strings, ball jointed dolls perch on cupboards, plush and rag dolls piled into corners on the floors. Sewing equipment and fabric are scattered on the floor. On the walls are vintage posters of large eyed blonde girls in eloquent clothes. Rose of Versailles is the only one you recognize.

“ _This_ is _your_ room?” You expected something a little more fiendish looking for Cal.

“What was your first clue?” Cal snickers. They peel back a poster and you see a ventilation grate in the upper corner of the room. They whisper, “Don’t you want to hear what they’re talking about?”

You are curious about what they could be discussing. You whisper, “Do you always listen in?”

“Sometimes.” Cal smiles, showing you their filed teeth, “Mainly to Nektan. I hate that guy so I like listening to the cue ball really lay into him.”

You hate him too. There’s nothing worse than a pompous Neo Victorian. You listen in close and hear Scrate and Nektan, low and echoing.

“I can’t keep letting you do this.” Nektan is pleading, “I don’t know how but Vinnie found out that I wasn’t giving his people the same rate I give you!”

Scrate is composed. “Nektan, I told you this deal is high stakes. You have to be prepared to play the game.”

“Do you not understand what am I _saying_? Vinnie will tell Capone and Capone will fucking gut me if he knows you guys are getting free shipping while I’m making them pay 500 a pound! And then I have those UBK and Tex-Mex jackals breathing down my neck about the 800 and 900.”

“Nektan, you’re a gambling man. You have to learn to weigh the odds and the luck.” Scrate sighs.

“But—”

“Listen to me, Nektan.” Scrate doesn’t raise his voice but he’s firm and his voice is low, “You are going to return home. You shall have the same person who writes your school essays write out your agreements with your other associates. You will go home and you will think about how _displeased_ your father would be if he found out that his son and heir to his company was cavorting with whores and spending his school days drinking and sleeping like a lout. And then you also consider, _Nektan_ , that I enjoy my time alone and that I do not enjoy being disturbed by spoiled little rich boys with an inferiority complex.”

There’s a minute of silence.

“Scrate.” Nektan says. There’s no response. You hear feet scuffling, “Listen to me damnit! These thugs are— _ow!_ ”

There’s a loud _thud_ , followed by Nektan yelping. Whimpering. Choking for air. Scrate heaves a sigh. “Joan. Release him.”

More feet scuffle and stumble around. Nektan chokes, muttering something that sounds apologetic. Lil Cal snickers and covers the grate again with the poster.

“Hopy shit.” they giggle, “Joan must have slammed skinny into the fucking floor. Bet that idiot tried to take a swing at the cue ball.”

“Joan’s never attacked me though.” You say.

“Scrate’s got different rules for his… _protégés_.” Cal nudges you with a metal foot. “Better go see the damage. Be a good little ‘secretary’.”

You can’t figure out if Lil Cal likes or dislikes you. They indulge and beckon for your company but then shoo you away just as quickly. When you consider who they have for company, they must feel lonely at times. You return to the hallway to see Nektan limping for the front door. His (now bent) glasses hang perilously off his face. It serves as reminder not to irritate Joan.

The parlor door is open and Scrate is standing. His posture seems stiffer and his hands tightly clenched. He turns his neck from side to side, and then gives you a toothy smile. “Walk with me, darling Rose?”

You follow him to his bedroom and onto the balcony. There is not much to see: the mile-high-skyway, the desperate poverty and clunky urban landscape of New Jack City that’s turning orange, red, and black with the approach of evening. Scrate doesn’t have a drink with him. He’s silent, staring out at the horizon.  

“I have something to tell you.” Scrate says, “It is with great sadness that I must inform you that our time together is coming to an end, darling Rose. Although staying in New Jack has been nostalgic and wonderful, I am of nomadic blood and wish to see more of the world yet still.”

He falls silent again and you ask. “Where will you go?”

“That I am not sure of. Perhaps I shall go south to New Mehico, or go far into the north and across the ocean to Shongolia or Indie. It’s been ages since I was in Chinacan. I may just travel all of the Northern Continent.” He smiles at you, “Would you come with me?”

“Me?”

“It would be tedious and unproductive to travel without my administrative assistant. My papers haven’t been in perfect order in such a long time.”

You blush. “Thank you, Mr. Scrate…”

“So shall you come with me, Rose? Of course all expenses shall be paid for.”

You smile, “As much as I would like to take your offer, Mr. Scrate, I’d like to finish school and get my English degree.”

“Ah yes; education is of great importance.” He takes your hand, “I am more than willing to send you to the best school in the country. Then in due time you may join me overseas.”

“I look forward to that day.”

“I am glad to hear it. Oh, dear, Rose. Let us not spend our last week as employer and employee in sadness that we may soon be separated but rejoice. I propose on the eve of St. Capricornus, we shall have a feast of our own to commemorate our time together.”

“I would enjoy that very much so, sir.”

“Splendid, darling Rose. Absolutely splendid.” He touches your hand. “It is moments like this that make me sad I will never experience the joy of having a child of my own bloodline.”

You touch his hand, smiling. “I can say with all honesty that species does not matter to me when it comes to family.”

His eyes look watery for a second. Scrate says nothing and hugs you. “Thank you, Rose.” he whispers. 


	4. requiem of the labrynith

The remaining week in August is spent in frantic attention to detail. Scrate plans his parties out meticulously and you help in the decorating motif and what dishes are to be served. Ingredients are delivered to the suite in small coolers: caviar, kobe beef, black truffle, white truffle, gruyere cheese, wine, and champagne. You don’t know where the items come from. The deliverers are always from unmarked vans and boxes delivered by muscular escorts.

“To prevent thieving of course, dear Rose.” Scrate explains. He stands in his parlor with several bouquets arranged on his desk. “Good lords and ladies know who lurk around each corner in this city. Don’t misconstrue me, darling Rose. New Jack City is a lively place of culture and a heart of creativity but danger still lurks.” He sighs, “And I simply can’t decide which bouquet I prefer! Cal, what do you think?”

The lanky cybernetic is stretched across the windowsill. They yawn, “Does it really matter? Orchids are orchids. Lilies are lilies.”

“I’m more concerned with the decorating motif. Cal, come here and choose since you have an eye for design.” Cal scowls and Scrate sighs, “Get up, Cal. You’ve done nothing all day but lay about like a slug on a lettuce leaf.”

Cal growls and tumbles off the chair. Scrate rolls his eyes. “ _Children_. Rose dear, walk with me please.”

He leads you to the walk in closet in his bedroom, where he has a display of small dresses with ruffled underskrits, long puff sleeves, bows, and lace.

“Offer me your opinion here, dear Rose. Which one is best?” Scrate asks you, “I am fond of the princess blue cotton with the square neckline though I am also particular to the red lattice with the doll collar and laced trim.”

“Who are these for?” you ask.

“Callie, of course! I can’t have her walking around in nothing but a shirt and bowtie. She needs something appropriate for the occasion.”

“If she likes bow ties maybe let her wear a suit?” you suggest.

Scrate laughs, “A suit? On her tiny body? She’d trip all over herself!” The troll returns to studying a green doll collar with a pleated hem, “No. A lovely little skirt is best. I am favoring green to the other colors...”

“Callie does like green…” You don’t want to be the one to tell him Callie hates dresses. All children go through this. You can only pick out their clothes for so long.

“Green it is.” Scrate smiles, “It’s hard to think that not long ago she was a tiny grub. No matter how old she gets, Callie will always be my precious little girl.”

“What will you do when she gets older?” You think of the trolls in your class who have filled quadrants and started families before even graduating.

Scrate doesn’t frown but he doesn’t look happy. He continues studying the dress. “I doubt she will ever be able to leave this place.”

Joan enters the room followed by Cal. “You got a special delivery, old man!” Cal laughs.

Joan hefts up a cooler box. Scrate smiles and walks over to her. “Oh, thank you Joan! Your immense strength is always of great benefit to me.” He chuckles, “I don’t know what I’ll do when your short lifespan runs out and I am left with several hundred more years ahead of me.”

“You could always put Cal out to stud.” Joan says, humorlessly.

Scrate laughs, “Ha! The very _idea_ , Joan.”

A smile spreads across your face but then you see Lil Cal’s face it disappears. You’ve never seen Cal angry. They leave the room abruptly, which goes unnoticed by Scrate and Joan. You don’t know whether to laugh or go after them, so you awkwardly stand there.

When you return home, your mother is out; you suppose she is on a date. Whether said date is for business or pleasure, you’re not sure and don’t care. You’re only inside for a minute when there’s a knock at the door. You look through the peephole and see John. John standing on the porch. He must have just seen you walk in. You try to ignore him and go to the kitchen to make yourself a snack. You hope he just leaves eventually.

Thirty minutes later, you return to the door. John is still there, waiting patiently. You sigh and open the door, “What do you want?”

John sighs. “When I sent you that message about me leaving on tour, you didn’t respond, so I thought you were angry at me. I didn’t realize you hadn’t received my messages. Then while I was on tour some asshole stole my iHusk. My husktop got hacked.” You roll your eyes, “I know this sounds like a bunch of excuses but I...I _miss_ you, Rose.”

You scowl. “Well. I don’t miss _you._ You abandoned me to go play actor boy. I understand, John. I was holding you back. It’s been mo-months anyways.” Oh no; your body is doing that thing when you get upset you start to shake and cry. “I-I’ve moved on…”

“Rose, the reason I went on tour is because—” John says.

“I don’t want to hear it! We’re through, John!”

You slam the door in his face. You hear John calling your name through the door so you walk to your bedroom. You shut the door and put your headphones on.

You don’t care.

You don’t care about him.

You go to work on Complacency of the Learned. Halfway into your chapter where Calmasis curses Frigglish into making his writing unreadable, you burst into tears. You hate yourself even more.

 

* * *

 

The party is Saturday evening. You arrive at Scrate’s suite in plain clothes and let Cal make you over. You don't own anything fancy enough for the party and its fun to have Cal dress you up.

“Do you always dress people up?” you ask.

Cal is zipping up the back of your dress. “I had to help Caliborn into a shirt and pants. You tell me.”

Cal’s fashion sense makes you think of Kanaya, who still won’t talk to you. Kanaya. Your oldest friend, who was always happy to see you and wanted to invite you to her parties despite the New Jack attitude towards interspecies relationships, platonic and otherwise. “Do you like fashion, Cal?”

Cal snorts. “Puppets can dress however they want. I just find a way to whittle the time away.”

You hear a shout and someone stomping off elsewhere in the suite. “What was that?”

“Callie, of course. She’s not happy about the outfit the cue ball’s making her wear.”

“Why not tell Scrate? I’m sure you have plenty of outfits for her.”

Cal snorts, “You make it sound like the cue ball listens to me. Callie is _his_ girl. She dresses the way he wants and does what he wants.”

“What about you?”

Cal laughs, “I’m only around because the twins like me.” They finish zipping up the back. “Alright. Let’s take a look at you.”

You look at yourself in the tall mirror. You’re not a fan of short sleeves or ruffled skirts but you love the satin and velvet material, along with the dark blue and purple coloring. “I don’t think I’ve worn something so beautiful before.”

“Great for you.” Cal snorts.

You don’t know what to make of Cal’s attitude. They seem irritated with everything and far more snappish. Could they be upset about the end of the internship? Or are they upset because Callie is upset? “What’s wrong, Cal?” you ask.  

Cal frowns. “Nothing.”

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you...” You would be lonely working for Mr. Scrate if they didn’t keep your company.

“Why in the hell would I tell you that?” Cal folds their arms, “Just go on. The old man is waiting for you.”

Scrate is sitting in his parlor, wearing a green and white suit and reading from a book. Caliborn sits in the corner and you can’t tell if he’s tired or bored. Callie is pacing back and forth, sweeping with a metal broom.

When Scrate sees you, he stands and smiles. “Dear Rose! You look _lovely_!”

You blush. “I just hope I don’t spill anything on this dress from the dinner. It’s so lovely and it’s in my size…”

Scrate smiles, “You’d be surprised about the availability of clothes in a variety of sizes across the pond. This little marvel is something I picked up in Young Britain where Neo Victorianism is very popular among the upper class.”

“If it wasn’t for my eyes, I may be able to pass for one.”

“Nonsense, dear Rose. There are plenty of Young British nobles with slight mutations. They just conceal it like I do.”

“Which I don’t think you should. I think you look fine.”

“You are a darling, Rose.” He chuckles, “Now, I have a fine meal planned. I hired a chef from The Silver Lily to prepare a proper Young British dinner for our party. The dinner party is a long held tradition within Young British society. In New Jack, you have business meetings but in Young Britain we have dinner parties with _perfect_ hosts. We are being served a la Russe with a three course meal. It shall be wonderful.”  

He leads you by hand to the dining room where a long table is arranged with silverware and a bouquet of expensive flowers on the table. This all for you. This is your welcome into the family. Joan stands in the corner staring. Callie enters the dining room still dragging her broom.

“Callie, leave that thing in the hall. I don’t even know why you’re carrying it.” Scrate growls. Callie sticks out her tongue but leaves briefly and returns to the room sans broom. Scrate smiles, “Good. Now, we may begin.”

Scrate sits at the head of the table with you on his left and Joan on his right. The troll opens a champagne bottle and pours both you and him a glass.

Scrate raises his glass, “A toast…to new beginnings and welcoming Rose to our family.”

“To new beginnings.” You conclude, sipping your champagne.

The first course is a warm vegetable broth soup that tastes strongly of celery and turnips.

The second course is a round lumpy meat braised in a thick dark sauce. You’re all for experiencing new things so you cut off a small piece and try it. You chew it slowly but you can’t figure out what it is still. The texture is too gelatinous to be a solid meat like pork or chicken. Could this be a terrine? Some sort of head cheese? You’re too polite to ask so you take another bite.

There’s definitely an acidic and citric taste and the smell is pungent. You can detect allspice, black pepper, salt, and vinegar mixed into the dish. What could it be? Pork jelly? Galantine? Pâté? You’re mulling over the particularly chewy chunks hidden in the gel when your canine hits something hard. Something you can’t chew. You politely spit it out into napkin. Its a small hard claw attached to a tiny leg. A very tiny leg.  

A grub leg.

Your stomach clenches and you fretfully drop the napkin. “What. What are we eating? Whatareyoufeedingme.”

You pick up the glass of champagne you were drinking from but you’re shaking too much. You drop it on the ground. Your heart is thundering but it’s not from realizing what you’re eating. You feel tingly; pins and needles all over your limbs, body, and face. Every light in the room is growing a colorful aura.  

Scrate looks at you but he’s turning paler by the second. His eyes are shrinking, “Rose, calm down.”

“You…” You stand, stumbling from the table. Your skin pulses, turning white. Persian rug patterns vibrate from every lights and pulse with your heart. Rapid. Blinking. You’re sweating.  

Lil Cal looks at Scrate. “You gave her too _much_.” they whisper. 

“Must be the adrenaline…” Scrate sighs.

“Y-you...you did this.” You’re moving to the door. Even in your racing mind you can understand that you’ve been drugged.

“Rose. Calm yourself. You’re just having a reaction to—”

“Get away from me!”

You stumble into the hall, tripping over a three-dimensional line. No. Its not a three dimensional line. It’s a broom. Why is there a broom here?

Scrate is behind you tut-tutting. “Rose, dear. You should be careful running around like that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You did this to me!” You stand, grabbing the broom. Your stomach gives another nervous twist when you look at Scrate. His head is bulbous and his eyes are disappearing under the shiny surface. It’s too smooth and too round to be a troll head. No, not a head. It’s a cue ball. A massive cue ball that is perfect white, smooth, and utterly wrong _._ You no longer see Scrate’s face but yours reflected back: sweating and horrified.

“Rose.” Scrate’s voice vibrates like a thousand flying locusts. It hurts to listen, “Rose, calm down. Getting excited will make things worse.”

“Get away from me…” You pant.

“Rose. Just calm down and give me the—”

_“Get away from me!”_

The cue ball creature comes closer so you use the only weapon available: the broom. You bash him bristle side first. The cue ball creature hits the floor. You sprint down the hall, open the door, and run outside.   

Outside, it’s wet and rainy. The sky is colorful and swirling, patterned like a Persian rug. Your skin is pulsing and you smell a sticky sweet aroma. You’re running and with every step the city is changed. The buildings are glassy, crystallized; reflecting the swirling lights and rains. Every step on smooth endless pavement reflects and refracts.

You run faster, heaving and heart thundering. The rainclouds plump and yellow in color. Something chases you with huge clacking feet. Marble on cement. Clack. Clack. It’s hunting you. You turn down an alley, splashing through puddles of magenta and cyan. How can it be so bright? Wasn’t it nighttime?  

You are twisting and turning through the city. The lights become brighter and the world more distorted. You have to escape the beast. You are running and the background is blurred. You are running on grass, kicking aside chalk beasts and slithering creatures. Hard yet soft; made of bright chalk and pastel hue.

You see a window hovering in front of a wall. The wall is attached to the building but what building?  It’s revolving turning twisting wrong-ways and sideways you can’t describe this building. Is it safe? The window frame shines but inside its dark as a black hole. You hear the clacking. The ogre is coming for you.

You take your chances with the window and climb inside. Its dark but the light still flickers. It’s not a light but a bright Technicolor crack splintering through the darkness. You hear the heavy breathing of the beast so you scramble towards the light. The closer you get, the more light it becomes. Its blinking a message. It’s offering… assurance? You have no choice but to trust it. You press forward.

 

 

You enter the light, passing through the portal. On the other side, you stand in a hallway. You are in a house; an aged and abandoned house with vines and moss on the floorboards and walls. You walk down the hallways and pass a faded moldy… painting? No, its not a painting. It’s low-res wallpaper someone printed at a huge size. Why? You continue walking, passing cracked and aged wizard statues. Some of the fancy frames on the wall are empty and the pictures long decayed.  

 

 

 

ROSE: Who’s house is this?

ROSE: Wait.

ROSE: Why does my voice sound weird? 

ROSE: Like its not my own.

ROSE: Like I’m being puppeteered?

ROSE: And so… echoing...  

ROSE: Oh my gods.

ROSE: I…I’m losing my mind…aren’t I?

 

You cautiously descend the stairs into what looks like the living room. You look at the decaying and mossy décor: stuffed toys, bookshelves made of dark wood, elegant rugs and something very peculiar sitting on a pedestal.

 

 

 

ROSE: A… bronze vacuum?

ROSE: Why would anyone bronze a vacuum?

ROSE: (Rich people are strange.)

ROSE: (And who am I talking to?)

 

That’s when you see the twenty foot tall granite statue of a hideous wizard. The hand’s been broken off and kudzu vines and moss cling to it. How did you miss that? You hear another noise from under the floorboards. It sounds like running water. The hell? You’d got to the windows but you’re afraid of the beast finding you. You go back upstairs and look for a hiding spot.

 

ROSE: It’s so big. Almost too big.

ROSE: But I like it here.  

ROSE: This is the house I wanted when I was little. Secluded. Quiet. Away from New Jack…

 

You walk to a door that looks familiar and go through it.

You are not prepared for what you encounter on the other side though.

 

 

  
 

EGOUG: Hello Rose.

ROSE: Who are you?

EGOUG: You encounter a deity and that’s the first thing you say? 

ROSE: Where am I? Why is everything so… strange? Its hurting my eyes...

EGOUG: I thought you were all about understanding madness?

ROSE: Yes but the human brain has limits. It hurts my eyes to look at you the way you.

EGOUG: Forgive me. Sometimes I forget that human eyes can only perceive limited planes of reality.  

 

 

 

 

EGOUG: Is this better?

ROSE: Uhh…why is everything…weird? And squashed? I feel my sense of proportion is off?

EGOUG: Yes that does happen. Hold on.

 

 

EGOUG: How about this?

ROSE: I think this is better…? How are you doing this?

EGOUG: Magic.

ROSE: Magic? Seriously?

EGOUG: Well a combination of magic and you tripping balls. Reminds me of my days when I had a drinking problem.

ROSE: Gods can be alcoholics?

EGOUG: This was before immortality. And what else was I supposed to do? I was under immense stress and perhaps it was a dose of cabin fever. Being stuck on a meteor for four years makes one behave strangely. We all had our own outlets.

ROSE: What?

EGOUG: Exactly.

ROSE: Okay… is there a reason you look like me?

EGOUG: Well there are several answers to that.

ROSE: Let’s go with the simplest.

 

 

EGOUG: I am you. 

ROSE: Bullshit.

EGOUG: Well you wanted simple.

ROSE: Then give me the complicated.

EGOUG: I am the ultimate version of you.

EGOUG: You see many millennia ago, there was a single Rose Lalonde who existed on a single planet called Earth and she was friends with three other humans: John, Jade, and Dave. They played a game but this game had very special conditions that made it difficult to win on their own, so they were introduced to trolls and several other creatures all in the process of trying to win a single, very complicated session of said game.

ROSE: I’m assuming you won.

EGOUG: Yes, and as reward we are now the lords of our own massive multiverse.

EGOUG: Therefore, we have ascended to another plane of existence in order to become lords of our multiverse.

ROSE: So if you are me, why do I exist? Why do I have my own Jade, John, and so forth?

EGOUG: You’re spare parts.

ROSE: Spare…parts?

EGOUG: In case of emergencies. I’d tell you more but the last time I did that, that person went insane.

ROSE: …

ROSE: I don’t believe you. You might know my name but you can’t know *everything* about me.

EGOUG: I do, as we are the same person but with different experiences and histories.

ROSE: Before you were a god, where did you live?

EGOUG: I lived in Rainbow Falls, New York, in an isolated mansion in the woods, on the planet Earth. I was raised by my mother after she found me and I befriended John, Dave, and Jade via the internet. Much later I met my matesprit in person, Kanaya. 

ROSE: …I live in the Ninth Ward of New Jack City, in the trailer park on New Earth. I was raised by my mother. I’ve never met my father. I’ve been with John, Dave, and Jade since we were babies. John’s always had a crush on me and I kissed Kanaya once but we never… clicked.

EGOUG: Consider the butterfly effect, in that a small action or difference along a timeline can have a larger outcome.

EGOUG: A hypothesis: the reason this version of you paired off with John and not Kanaya was because you spent more time with John in person than you did with Kanaya due to New Jack’s speciest policies and attitudes, therefore you formed a larger attachment to John than I ever did. While in my alpha universe, I did not become attached to John as I did with Kanaya as that I spent equal time with them.

EGOUG: Conclusion: the fact your John was neighbors with you and that mine was not made a huge difference in the long run.

ROSE: It seems obvious when you put it like that.

EGOUG: Well I am the goddess of forbidden knowledge as well as being the embodiment of horror and terror. I know things that make people uncomfortable. Looking into my hellish eyes would be an assault to your mind; a clusterfuck vision of all the things feared. I tend to monologue about fear. A lot. It comes with being Queen of Hell.

ROSE: Well then. This all very. Uh.

EGOUG: Hurts the brain to think about it?

ROSE: Yes…

ROSE: …how long am I going to be here?

EGOUG: I suspect for a while. Scrate gave you a copious amount of ‘sweet juju’ with your food.

ROSE: Oh my gods. Scrate!!

ROSE: That fucking bastard!! I’m going to kill him for this!!

ROSE: I can’t believe that fucker drugged me!

EGOUG: (I can. He was very obviously a bad person.)

ROSE: And after all that time I spent with him! I even drank his wine and I felt like we had… had a bond.

ROSE: I…I *respected* him.

ROSE: He… he was like a father to me.

ROSE: Oh my god. I have Daddy issues… I… I’ve become a cliché!  

EGOUG: Rose, this iteration of you has never known a father or had a true male figure in her life. There’s bound to be some psychological factors involved in this. It’s the reason why you didn’t sleep with him even though he constantly dropped hints.

ROSE: Wait? What? When?

EGOUG: Oh come now. Dressing you up? Dancing? The man knew what he was doing. The only hiccup was that you ‘friend zoned’ him, or ‘father zoned’ perhaps.

EGOUG: You gravitated towards Scrate because you felt he understood you. It was the father you always wanted. That’s why you didn’t make a big deal of his obviously criminal activities.

ROSE: You don’t have to rub it in, you know.

EGOUG: Normally I wouldn’t but some people need things clearly spelled out for them.

ROSE: This entire situation is so embarrassing… I never thought I’d be the person to sob about ex-boyfriends and fall into the ‘Nice Guy’ trap Scrate had for me…

EGOUG: Darling, Scrate isn’t a ‘Nice Guy’. He’s a manipulative sociopath who was luring you into the same lifestyle that he has entrapped others in, just like the others “protégés”. 

ROSE: The others…? Oh my gods. Callie! She’s still there!

ROSE: And the broom at the door…she…

ROSE: She helped me escape.

ROSE: Callie knew what was going to happen and… she helped…

EGOUG: There’s nothing you can do for her, Rose. Look at you. You’re talking to a deity that many equate with Satan, even though they would be incorrect. I’m closer to Ereshkigal, Hekate, or Santa Muerte but apples will be apples I suppose.   

ROSE: You are right about me tripping rather hard. I hope I’m not doing anything embarrassing like running around nude or talking to a tree…

EGOUG: You’re not the first person to trip balls and talk to me. Although, you’re a lot more coherent, shaven, and better smelling than the typical ones.

ROSE: Um. Thank you. I guess.

 

 

GOBAH: WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?

ROSE: Ahhh!

EGOUG: Karkat, please don’t just appear like that when I have guests. You know how sudden apparition tends to frighten them.

GOBAH: BIG FUCKING DEAL. I’M NOT WALKING ANYWHERE WHEN I CAN TELEPORT. GET USED TO IT, FLESHBAG.

EGOUG: Karkat, you seem grouchy. Did you not break your record of how many bulges you could suck off in an hour?

GOBAH: FUCK YOU. WHICH ROSE IS THIS?

EGOUG: The one from that cluster of timelines involving the trailer park and New Earth.

GOBAH: OH. THAT’S… RANDOM.

ROSE: How many universes are there?

 

 

GOBAH: TOO FUCKING MANY. EACH UNIVERSE HAS AT LEAST A HUNDRED ALTERNATE TIMELINES. ITS EASIER JUST TO NAME THE ALPHA TIMELINE AND IGNORE THE REST OF THE CLUSTERFUCK. EVEN GODS GET TIRED KEEPING TRACK OF ALL THAT SHIT.

ROSE: What are you doing here casually hanging out? Aren’t you two supposed to be…enemies?

GOBAH: SUPPOSEDLY…? 

EGOUG: Mortals often forget that gods have complicated relationships. We might get angry and have feuds but when you’ve been with someone for millennia; it’s hard to stay angry at them. A friendship that has survived multiple deaths can allow you to extend forgiveness over little contrivances like who killed whose offspring or partner and who backstabbed whom. That last part sometimes being literal. Big issues for mortals are petty squabbles for us, like what you have going on with Dave.

ROSE: That is not a petty squabble.

GOBAH: SEEMS THAT WAY TO ME BUT WHAT DO I KNOW? I WROTE OFF DAVE CHAINING ME TO A FUCKING PLANET AND LEAVING ME THERE FOR EONS.

EGOUG: You were mentally unsound, Karkat. You needed time to ‘chill out’ as he put it.

GOBAH: YEAH…I KNOW…

GOBAH: IT STILL SUCKED.

GOBAH: AND ROSE, THE TRAILER TRASH ROSE I MEAN.

ROSE: You know, that word is very offensive.

GOBAH: YOU KNOW, I COULD MAKE YOUR HEAD EXPLODE JUST BY THINKING ABOUT IT HARD ENOUGH.

ROSE: …

GOBAH: THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.

EGOUG: Listen, Rose. Dave is your oldest friend. He was there for you all throughout school, even middle school when things were really shitty. He had your back and covered for you when things got awkward. Remember seventh grade?

ROSE: Not particularly…

EGOUG: Allow me to refresh your dated memory.

EGOUG: It is afternoon at Atwood Middle School. You are 13 years old and you’ve been feeling miserable because of two particular girls: Adele Padilla and Ronda Torres. They were your bullies all throughout middle school. It’s during break and you’re in the library playing Monopoly with Dave because you don’t want to go near them. When the bell rings, you get up and there was a smear of blood all along the chair you were sitting in.

GOBAH: (EW.)

EGOUG: (Shut up you.)

EGOUG: And you were embarrassed and afraid of what those two girls might say so you panicked. And Dave didn’t say anything. He just handed you his jacket and told you to make a run for it, which you did.  

ROSE: Oh… oh my god.

ROSE: I forgot that happened.

ROSE: I was so upset…I called my mother so I could go home.

EGOUG: He never told anyone and not just because it was embarrassing. Its because you’re the sister he always wanted. And he misses you. A lot.   

ROSE: I was just so angry at him…

EGOUG: Rose, it’s time to stop avoiding the truth. If you think you know who your father is, confront him. If you love John, tell him.

ROSE: I doubt neither Dave nor John will speak to me…

GOBAH: OH MY FUCKING GOD. HERE.

 

 

ROSE: Huh?

 

 

ROSE: What did you do?

GOBAH: IT’S A BLESSING FOR YOUR QUADRANTS.

ROSE: But I’m human.

GOBAH: OH LIKE THAT MATTERS ANYMORE WITH YOU KIDS ARE THESE DAYS.

GOBAH: GO TALK TO JOHN.

GOBAH: GO TALK TO DAVE.

GOBAH: GO TALK TO KANAYA.

GOBAH: GO TALK TO DIRK.

GOBAH: AND TALK TO YOUR FUCKING *MOTHER* FOR JEGUSSAKE.

GOBAH: TELL THEM YOU WERE A DUMBASS AND YOU’RE SORRY AND SO ON. APPRECIATE WHAT YOU FUCKING HAVE. YOUR LIFESPANS AREN’T VERY LONG AND THERE’S A TIME LIMIT ON WHAT CAN BE DONE.

GOBAH: AND TELL ERIDAN TO DUCK.  

GOBAH: NOW WAKE THE FUCK UP.

EGOUG: It was nice talking to you.

ROSE: What n--


	5. needful things

 

You wake up in the hospital room, hearing the beep of the heart monitor and the hiss of oxygen from the mask on your face. The room is sterilized and calm. You survived the surreal nightmare and returned to reality with all its dull comforts.  The door opens and John walks in wearing a wrinkled shirt and pants.

He smiles, “Hey. How are you?”

“John…?” Your voice is hoarse, “What are you doing here…?”

John sits in a chair next to your bed. “I was at home when Mom told me you were in the hospital. Some cops founds you in Summoner Park covered in grass and mud in only your underwear. You were babbling in a weird language and they thought you were having a seizure, so they brought you here. You had some kind of toxin in your system.”

“I was drugged with a copious amount of sweet juju. I don’t know how much of it.” You sigh, “How long have I been out?”

“About two days. They spent most of their time trying to purge the drug from your body. It took them a while to figure out who you were because you had no ID on you but they did a retinal scan and contacted your Mom.”

Your mother. Oh gods, she must be freaking out. “I’m an idiot. I’ll never hear the end of this from everyone and…” You look at John’s clothes, “Wait. How long have you been here, John? Shouldn’t you be back in Midway? I thought you were touring until September Ninth?”

John smiles. “I can always go back to Midway. You’re more important to me.”

“It’s your career though, John…”

John shrugs. “There’ll be other shows. Other opportunities. I made enough money and I’ve been an asshole to ignore you like this.”

“I don’t know John…” You feel dizzy and tired, “I don’t know about… _anything_ anymore. Everything is so… jumbled up. I’m confused about what happened and worst of all, I was mean to everyone that tried to warn me...”

John touches your shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “We all do incredibly stupid things, Rose. Mom says that making mistakes is part of learning. I made the mistake of wanting to wait to tell you why I was touring and making money…I uh…”

You see his cheeks redden and you chuckle. “What is it, John?”

“I was saving up the money so we could move in together during senior year.”

“Really?” You chuckle, “We’re not married though. Your mother would flip.”

“I know. She’ll go into a room and flip all the tables but I’m willing to risk being struck in the face by a flying table if it means I get to see you more.” John smiles, “So… will you forgive me for being an asshole?”

“…I’m just glad to see you, John.” you smile, “I’d kiss you if I didn’t have this mask on.”

John leans in and kisses your forehead. “How about this?”

“Just as good.”


	6. Epilogue.

**== >Be Mr. “Nice” Guy**

You hear Joan enter the parlor but don’t look at her. You’re studying your face in the mirror. That beating the girl gave you with the broom left bruises all along your face. Make-up won’t cover it so you pray it disappears in time. Cal sits at the windowsill, playing with knives like the immature child he is. You’ve sent Callie to her room without supper and Caliborn with her. It was her broom mischief that gave you this mark.

Joan is soaking wet.  “She’s gone.” she says, “Can’t easily track her in the rain.”

“How unfortunate.” You sigh. “By now she’s either be dead or in police custody. The NJPD are rare to let human women run about. Even with those purple eyes she’s a precious commodity.”

Joan stares into space. Oh Joan; poor burnt-out thing. Your talk of proper breeding and anti-mutation attitudes only remind her of home and her old way of life… if she could comprehend that.

“I _so_ was looking forward to having another protégé...” You swivel around in your chair and bring your computer out of sleep mode.

You open up your ~ATH program. You hated when the Master forced you to learn coding languages, from C++ to ^CAKE and DIS*. So far you found only ~ATH useful, but knowing the Master and his many irons in the fire, he is bound to connive _some_ usage out of your further programming knowledge.

You enter the security passcode.

 

 **t1CK t0ck 8r8k H34DS**  

 

You admit the passcode is juvenile but you always feel nostalgic for your youngster FLARPing days. You pull up the Joan’s file and at the very bottom of the long string of code, you tack on:

 

**import New Jack City.kml**

**import Rose Lalonde.id**

**~ATH(Laonde){**

**~ATH(Code){}Execute(null);**

**} Execute(null);**

**THIS.DIE();**

 

With Joan’s burned out wits, she’s slow to activate but after a thirty second delay, you see the red gleam in her. It was costly to implant her and the others but worth it. Without the cybernetics, Joan was a near-drooling idiot post-rehab.

“Order received.” Her voice always sounds deeper when activated, “Exterminate Rose Lalonde.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the conclusion of Act 2 for Trailerstuck! Time for a brief hiatus (mainly so that Zee can get a new tablet cause hers has been broken for a while now). If anyone has any asks, please forward them to bad-imagination.tumblr.com and all fanworks can be posted under the 'Trailerstuck' tag for future reloggings! 
> 
> Thank you for your support so far of Trailerstuck. And Happy Holidays too! ^v^


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